Skilgannon followed. “Now tell me about Greavas!” he said. “Now tell me about his pleading!”
Boranius screamed in pain and fury and rushed in. Skilgannon parried, leapt aside, and sent a slashing cut across Boranius’s back as he blundered past. The Sword of Night sank deep, slicing into Boranius’s spine. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees, his remaining sword slipping from his hand.
Skilgannon walked around the man. The Sword of Day sliced through the leather straps holding the iron mask in place. It fell away, exposing the horror of Boranius’s mutilated face. The man’s blue eyes blazed with undisguised malice and hatred. “You are nothing, Boranius,” said Skilgannon, his voice emotionless. “You never were. Greavas was ten times the man you are.”
With that he walked away. Boranius screamed insults after him. His body jerked as he tried to force his legs to obey him, but his fractured spine could no longer send messages to his muscles. He tried to reach for his sword, but his arm spasmed and twitched.
He looked up to see the Witch Queen walking toward him, a slender dagger in her hand.
She knelt down before him, and he looked into her eyes. “You killed my mother,” she said.
The dagger came up slowly, the tip moving toward his eye.
Boranius screamed as the cold steel slowly, so slowly, pushed its way into his brain.
Skilgannon did not watch the tortured finish to Boranius’s life. Instead he moved to where Morcha was sitting by the wall, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound to his lower chest.
“You were too good a man to follow such a wretch,” said Skilgannon. “Why did you do it?”
“I wish I could answer that,” said Morcha. “I’m glad you beat him. Didn’t think you could. Didn’t think anyone could.”
“There’s always someone better,” said Skilgannon. Wearily he rose and walked back to where Druss was sitting with the child.
“You did fine, laddie,” said the old warrior. “You think Elanin will ever recover?”
Skilgannon lifted her from Druss’s arms and carried her to where the Joining lay. The golden eyes were still open, but its breathing was harsh now, and ragged. Kneeling down he laid the child alongside its huge head. A low moan came from the beast, and it pressed it muzzle against her face.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, Orastes,” said Skilgannon. “But your daughter is safe now.” Druss came and squatted down by the beast. He laid a huge hand upon its brow, stroking it as if it were a dog. The golden eyes remained fixed on the delicate features of the child for a while. Then they closed, and the breathing ceased.
For a while no one moved. Then the child’s eyes flickered, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. She blinked and sat up. Druss reached for her, drawing her into his arms.
“It is good to see you, pretty one,” he said.
“Daddy came for me,” she told him. “He told me you were here.”
Jianna stood back, gazing down at the man who had haunted her dreams for what seemed almost half a lifetime. Her thoughts fled back to those early, perilous days when she had posed as a prostitute, and had lived with the youth Skilgannon. The memories were sharp and vivid, tinged with many sadnesses. Yet they were also golden, and bright. Her dreams then had been simple. First there was survival, and then revenge. Nothing complicated. And always by her side was the swordsman Skilgannon.
He was kneeling now beside a golden-haired child, his hand gently brushing back her long fringe. She remembered when his hand was upon her face. She felt the first warning signs of tears, and angrily shut off the memories. Turning away from the scene she saw the Old Woman leaning upon her staff by the far wall. She wore a heavy black veil, and there was no way to read her expression.
She had appeared by the quayside as Jianna was leading her personal bodyguard on to the ship that would bear them up the coast to Sherak, on the first leg of the journey to the citadel.
“Are you traveling to kill Boranius or to rescue Skilgannon?” she had asked, as they stood on the aft deck.
“Perhaps both,” she had replied.
“He is wrong for you, Jianna. He will destroy you.”
Jianna had laughed then. “He loves me. He would do nothing to harm me.”
“It is love which is dangerous, my queen. Love blinds us to peril. Love leads to foolishness and sorrow.”
“And what if I love him?”
“You do love him, Jianna. I have known this since first we met. And that is the peril of which I speak. You are wise now, and ruthless as a leader must be. You are loved and you are feared. You can achieve greatness. It is there . . . just ahead . . . beckoning you.”
“Why do you hate him so?”
“I do not hate him. He is a fine, courageous man. I wish him dead because he is a threat to you. No more than that. Have you not also tried to have him killed? Can you not understand why? Your secret self, the true you, the center of your soul, knows he must be dealt with. Thoughts of him torment your mind.”
Jianna watched as the ship’s sails were unfurled, and sailors ran along the quay, letting slip the ropes. “Perhaps it is my true self telling me that I need him,” she countered.
“Pah! You need no one. I have lived long, Jianna. I know what you are experiencing. I was there myself once. You love him too much and too little. Too much ever to love another, and too little to change for his sake. He wants a wife and a mother to his children. You want an empire and a place in history. Do you believe these ambitions can be linked? He feels the same, my queen. He cannot love another, and your image is constantly in his mind. Yet he will not change either. He will not become your general again—even if it means sharing your bed and your life. As long as he lives he will be a rock in your heart.”
“I will think on what you have said,” Jianna told her.
Now, in this crumbling citadel, she realized more than ever before how much she had missed this tall man, and the joy of his company. She longed to walk across to him, and lay her hand upon his shoulder. To take a cloth and wipe away the blood that ran from the cut on his face.
A movement came from behind her. She turned to see the Drenai warrior she had first noticed in the courtyard below. His face was gray, and blood was drenching his tunic and leggings. He paused before her. “What are you doing climbing stairs, idiot?” she asked him. “I told you to wait until our surgeon attended you.”
“Thought I might die before seeing you again,” he told her.
“You fool. You could have died climbing those stairs.”
“Worth it, though.” The man swayed. Malanek stepped forward, taking his arm.
“Make sure his wounds are seen to,” she said. The soldier leaned in to Malanek and gave a crooked, boyish grin.
“Oh, I’ll not die now,” he said. As Malanek led him away, he swung his head. “Are you married?” he called back. Jianna ignored him.
A young, golden-haired female came into the hall and spoke in low tones to the Old Woman. She was carrying an ornate, small double-winged crossbow. The Old Woman waved an arm at her, pointing to a door across the hall. The young woman walked across to it, glancing back once. Then she was gone.
Skilgannon rose to his feet and turned. His sapphire blue eyes held to her own. Jianna allowed no expression to show. She merely waited. He strode toward her, and bowed deeply. Then he looked up, saying nothing.
“No words for me, Olek?” she asked him.
“None could do justice,” he said. “In this moment, standing here, I am complete.”
“Then come home with me.”
A spasm of pain crossed his features. “For more wars and death? For more destroyed cities and orphaned children? No, Jianna. I cannot.”
“I am a queen, Olek. I cannot promise no more wars.”
“I know.”
“Do you wish you had never met me?”
He smiled then. “Sometimes. In the depths of despair. If I could go back I would change many things. But meeting you? I would neve
r change that. You might as well ask a man with sunstroke if he wished he had never, ever seen the sun.”
“So what will you do?”
He touched the locket around his neck. “I’ll travel on.”
“You still think you can bring her back?”
He shrugged. “I won’t know unless I try.”
“And what then? Will you live with her on some arid farm?”
He shook his head. “I have not thought that far ahead.”
“Such a quest is a waste of life, Olek.”
“My life is already a wasteland. This at least gives me some purpose.”
A soldier appeared alongside Jianna. He bowed. “The rebels have gathered together in the courtyard, Majesty. They have plundered the warehouses and are seeking to leave. They say the man Druss promised them their lives. Should we kill them?”
“Let them go.”
“Yes, Majesty. Also our scouts report a large contingent of Datian cavalry are less than two hours from here. We should be gone before they arrive.” Malanek stepped forward, and also began to speak to her. Jianna saw Skilgannon move away toward the Old Woman who was beckoning him. Malanek was also urging swift departure.
“Very well. There is no more to achieve here.”
Glancing toward Skilgannon she saw him walk through the small doorway at the rear of the hall, followed by the Old Woman. Before the door closed she saw that there were stairs leading upward toward the battlements.
“Is he coming with us, Majesty?” asked Malanek, presenting her with the scabbarded Swords of Blood and Fire. Jianna shook her head and saw the old swordsman was disappointed. He sighed. “He’s a good man. I didn’t believe he could defeat Boranius. Nice to find that life can still surprise me.”
“There is no one he cannot beat. He is Skilgannon.”
She glanced again toward the small door. Beside it lay the body of a man who seemed familiar to her. “You recognize him?” she asked Malanek.
“Yes, Majesty. It is Morcha, one of Boranius’s officers.”
“I cannot place him. Ah well, no matter.” Curling her hand around the ivory hilt of one of the swords she slowly pulled it from the ebony scabbard. The blade was etched with swirls of red flame, the hilt beautifully carved, showing intertwined demonic figures. The sword was light in her hands, and she felt a thrill pass through her. Jianna shivered. “You believe these blades could be possessed?”
Malanek looked at her and smiled. “Time will tell, Majesty,” he said, with a shrug.
As the Old Woman reached the top of the stairs she turned to Skilgannon. “Are you not curious as to why I asked you to join me here?” she asked him.
“I already know,” he said.
“Ah, you have spoken with the beast-woman, Ustarte. Well now you intrigue me, Olek. Have you come to kill me?”
“I think your death is long overdue, hag. But, no, I have come to help Garianne.”
The Old Woman’s laughter rang out. “Oh, how sweet! I was hoping you would try to kill me with one of my own swords. I would have enjoyed watching your reaction when the blades failed to pierce my flesh. I may be old, but I am not foolish. I do not make weapons which can be used against me. So,” she said, leaning on her staff, “how will you help poor Garianne? Will you promise her love and affection?”
Skilgannon eased past her and moved out on to the circular battlements. Garianne was standing on the high wall, balancing on a crenellation and staring out over the land. Her crossbow was in her hand, and Skilgannon saw that it was loaded.
She glanced back at him, her face expressionless. Skilgannon leapt lightly to stand on another crenellation some ten feet from her. “I have never liked heights,” he said.
“I am not comfortable with them, either,” she said. He noted that she was speaking in the first person. This was something she never did unless drunk. He decided to risk a question.
“Why did you come up here, Garianne?”
“This is where it ends,” she said. “This is where the voices leave me. I will be free.”
The bright moonlight upon her pale skin made her seem almost childlike. She gazed down at the bow in her hand.
“If it will free you, then do it,” he said, facing her.
“Is the child well again?”
“Yes. As well as anyone can be who has suffered so much. Her mother was killed, her father is dead. She will have to live with those memories all her life. As you have, Garianne. What happened at Perapolis was evil. It was monstrous. For my actions there I am known—will always be known—as the Damned. My guilt is certain. Do what you must.”
“We . . . I . . . cannot live like this anymore.”
“Then don’t,” he said. “Aim your bow. Find your freedom.”
The crossbow came up. Skilgannon took a deep breath and prepared for the bolt to strike. Yet, she did not release the shaft. “I don’t know what to do. There is a voice I have not heard before.” Turning away from him she looked down at the stone courtyard far below. Skilgannon guessed her intention.
“Don’t!” he called, his voice commanding. “Look at me, Garianne. Look at me!” Her head came up, but she was still perched on the very edge of the battlements. “Your death would only make the horror of Perapolis complete. You survived. Your parents would have joyed in the thought of you living on. Their lives, their blood, are in you. You are their gift to the future. You leap from here, and their line has ended. Your father did not hide you so that you could end in this way. He loved you, and he wanted you to have a life. To find love as he perhaps found love. To have children of your own. In that way he lives on. I would sooner you sent a bolt into my heart, than watch you do this to yourself.”
“He is right, child,” said the Old Woman. “Kill him and be free. Call it punishment, call it justice, call it what you will. But do what you are here for.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“You stupid coward!” shouted the Old Woman. “Must I do everything myself?” She extended a bony hand toward Garianne. The girl screamed in pain and jerked upright. Her arm spasmed, and the crossbow once more rose.
Skilgannon swung toward the Old Woman. She was chanting now, the words in a tongue he had never heard.
Suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway behind her. A silver blade burst from the Old Woman’s chest, then slid back. The crone staggered forward, and fell to her knees, her staff clattering across the stone. She struggled to her knees, a large bloodstain spreading across her breast. Slowly she turned, and saw Jianna standing in the doorway, the Sword of Fire in her hand. The Old Woman’s head dipped and she tugged the black veil from her face. Skilgannon saw blood upon her lips. Then she spoke. “Love . . . blinds us . . . to peril,” she said. The Old Woman slumped dead to the battlement floor.
On the ramparts Garianne cried out and began to fall. Skilgannon spun, took two running steps, and hurled himself at her. His left hand grabbed at her tunic, his right hit a stone crenellation. His fingers slipped clear and he began to fall. Desperately he scrabbled at the stone, ripping the skin from his fingers. His hand hooked on to an inch-wide ledge some three feet below the battlements. Garianne was a dead weight, and the muscles of his arms were stretched to the point of tearing.
Jianna appeared above him. “Let the girl go. I’ll haul you up.”
“I cannot.”
“Damn you, Olek! You’ll both die!”
“She is . . . the last survivor . . . of Perapolis.” His blood-covered hand was giving way. He grunted and tried to cling on.
Jianna climbed over the ramparts, lowering herself to the thin ledge. Holding to a crenellation, she reached down, clamping her hand over his wrist. “Now we all go, idiot!” she said. Her added strength allowed him to hang on, but he could feel his strength seeping away. All Jianna had bought him were a few moments.
Suddenly he felt Garianne’s weight lessen. Looking down he saw that Druss had climbed out of the window of the Roof Hall and was standing on the ledge, supporting the unconsciou
s girl. “Let her go, laddie! I have her.” Gratefully he released his grip. Garianne slid down into Druss’s arms. Freed of the weight Skilgannon swung his left arm over the lip of stone and, as Jianna made way for him, climbed back to the battlements.
Jianna took his hand and wiped away the blood. His fingers were deeply gashed, and more blood pumped from the wounds. “We almost died. Was she worth it?” she asked, softly.
“Worth more than the Witch Queen and the Damned? I would say so.”
“Then you are still the fool, Olek.” she snapped. “I have no time for fools.” Yet, she did not move away.
“We need to say good-bye,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to say it,” she told him. Leaning in he kissed her lips. Malanek and several soldiers arrived on the battlements. They stood back respectfully as Jianna put her arms around Skilgannon’s neck.
“We are both fools,” she whispered.
With that she swung away from him and, followed by her men, returned to the Roof Hall. Skilgannon remained on the battlements. After a while he saw the Naashanites mount their horses and ride from the citadel.
Druss joined him, the little girl, Elanin, beside him, holding his hand. “Well, laddie, we did what we set out to do.”
“How is Diagoras?”
“Puncture wound over the hip and a cut to his shoulder. He’ll make it back to the temple.”
“And Garianne?”
“She’s sleeping. Diagoras is with her. The twins didn’t make it. Died together in the courtyard. It’s a damned shame, but I think that’s what Jared wanted. They were good lads.” The axman sighed. “Will you come with us?”
“No. I’ll head north.”
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